


Blue Devils

by VillaKulla



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 00:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8122735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: /blo͞o ˈdevəl/noun, inf: a feeling of despondency, depression, or low spiritsorigins: Old American West





	

 

 

“Faraday and I are in here,” Chisolm said, stopping outside a battered door on the top floor of the saloon. “You and Billy are down the hall.”

 

Chisolm tossed an iron key to them, and Billy’s hand darted out past Goodnight’s ear, catching it deftly.

 

“What about our Mexican friend? And Horne?” Goodnight asked, shifting the weight of his pack, while Billy worked the key into a somewhat rusted looking hole.

 

“Parlor on the main floor,” was the response. “And Red Harvest, who knows. Said he wanted to be outside.”

 

“Which is pretty convenient for us,” Faraday chimed in as he clambered up the stairs, carrying two rugsacks, one of which he handed off to Chisolm. “Seeing as how this outhouse of a saloon’s only got six beds in the first place. Poor guy. I mean I bet the mattresses here would make even granite look comfortable, but still beats sleeping on the fucking ground.”

 

“You could always invite him to share with you,” Billy spoke up mildly from where he’d unlocked the door, glancing over at Faraday, his normally inscrutable face wearing something that might have been a smirk.

 

Chisolm hooted with laughter at Faraday’s expense. Billy came off as so controlled that no one ever suspected the wicked sense of humor until they were ensnared in a punchline themselves. Goodnight still felt too rattled to laugh, but he forced a chuckle. To Faraday’s credit he was grinning harder than any of them.

 

“You’re as barbed as that hairpin of yours, Rocks,” he said, before turning to back Chisolm. “So what’s the drill, boss?”

 

“Emma mentioned something about the women wanting to rustle up some dinner for us,” Chisolm said, throwing his pack into his own room.

 

“Wonder if that’s all they’d been interested in rustling up,” Faraday said, winking at them all.

 

“Whorehouse is next door, Faraday,” said Chisolm without even batting an eye. “Just so long as you don’t bring any of ‘em back here. This room is so small it’s barely got enough room for the floor. And dinner’s at eight. That suit you fellows?” he asked, looking over at Goodnight and Billy.

 

“Fine,” Goodnight managed, aiming for casual even though his throat felt as dry as the dust they’d kicked up in their gunfight. Well… _their_ gunfight.

 

Chisolm nodded, and he and Faraday went in their room, door swinging shut behind them.

 

Goodnight stared down the empty hallway for so long, he didn’t even feel that Billy had been nudging him.

 

“Come on,” Billy said, holding the door open. Goodnight shook his head clear and entered the room, Billy following behind.

 

The room was unexpectedly delicate, considering the rough and tumble look of the saloon’s main room downstairs, with its chipped wooden tables that were covered in cigarette burns and nicks from spurs, where cowboys would prop their feet up. But maybe it was just because of the floral wallpaper, as flimsy and dusty and faded as Goodnight felt.

 

Goodnight immediately went to the bed closest to the wall where he dropped his bags. He flicked the curtain with its stray threads aside, looking up and down the street below, gaging rifle angles out of habit.

 

Billy glanced over at him from where he was unpacking one of the saddlebags they’d brought in from their horses. Never mind the fact that they’d be in this town a week tops, Billy always had to get his sparse belongings unpacked and put in order, no matter what kind of a hole they were staying in, or for how long.

 

“Yours,” he said before tossing Goodnight a pair of grey balled-up socks that had made their way into his own saddlebag.

 

Goodnight sighed by way of thanks, and Billy got up, carrying an assortment of toiletries over to the dresser across the room. He began lining them up: an ivory comb, a set of stainless steel hairpins, nail clippers, a leather shaving case that was buttery soft and that contained a cutthroat razor that was anything but, a compact mirror with an intricate pattern and Korean characters he’d long since taught Goodnight to read, and finally a tiepin with a mother-of-pearl inlay that had been a birthday gift from Goodnight himself. Watching him set up his things was as familiar a ritual as any to Goodnight. But even so he couldn’t manage to feel comforted by it.

 

He spotted Billy eyeing him in the dirty reflection of the mirror.

 

“Oh what’re you looking at?” Goodnight asked more forcefully than he’d intended. He immediately recognized it as needing to gain back some tough guy credibility after his performance out there, and also immediately realized Billy could see through him and didn’t care either way. He softened. “Aren’t you gonna say something?”

 

Billy’s reflection shook its head in the dusty glass. “ I was waiting for you to talk first.”

 

“Oh really?” Goodnight asked.

 

Billy finally turned his head back to look at him straight, and was wearing a smile. “I know, I’m surprised too. Half the time I’m just waiting for you to shut up.”

 

Goodnight chuckled more genuinely than he had out in the cramped hall and sat down on his bed, the flimsy mattress groaning beneath him.

 

His belongings set up, Billy walked back to the beds, taking a seat on his across from Goodnight. Goodnight knew that Billy wouldn’t ask about it. He’d always taken his partner’s condition in stride and never needed an explanation. He just seemed to understand what was going on with Goodnight before even Goodnight himself did. Still, Goodnight felt like he needed to address this one.

 

“It happened again, Billy,” he said finally.

 

“I can see that,” Billy said. “You okay?”

 

“Yes I _am_ okay, Rocks, that’s the problem!” Goodnight finally exploded. “What the hell did I risk out there? I just stood there holding onto my rifle like it was a limp dick and let you cover for me like always.”

 

Billy sat across from him waiting calmly to see if Goodnight had anything else to add, but unpredictably he didn’t. Normally after an episode he could rant for an hour, working all the nerves out of his system the way he did best: through talking. But maybe it was the day’s worth of hard riding and almost immediate skirmish that had tired them out.

 

“Sorry,” Goodnight mumbled. “I’d hoped they were becoming less frequent. Last one like that would’ve been…”

 

“Eight months,” Billy supplied. “Taylorsville, no?” he asked, accent tripping a little over the syllables.

 

“This was worse,” Goodnight said. “It’s getting _worse_ ,Bill, it’s getting worse and I can’t, I can’t do it like the rest of you, how you can all make it seem so goddamn _easy_ sometimes –“

 

To his horror Goodnight felt his throat catch around the last word. But almost immediately he felt his partner’s arms go around him, as Billy leaned forward across the slim space between their beds, pulling Goodnight towards him into a hug.

 

“Hey,” his partner said quietly, his breath almost making Goodnight’s hair flutter. “What did I tell you? You have seen worse, worse than me, okay? You're allowed to still feel it.”

 

“I shouldn’t be feeling anything at this point though,” Goodnight mumbled miserably into Billy’s vest. “The whole goddamn war was years ago anyways, and anytime someone so much as fires at a chicken hawk I feel like I’m there all over again. I don’t _get_ it.”

 

“Of course you can still feel things from long ago,” Billy said giving Goodnight’s back a quick pat before drawing back to look at him. His eyes crinkled. “I met you years ago. And you’re still a pain in the ass.”

 

Goodnight’s lip quirked up, but he still felt completely low. Seeing this, Billy reached out to tilt his chin up.

 

“Goody,” he said. “Would I spend all my time with someone I thought was –“

 

“Pathetic?” Goodnight interrupted with an unpleasant laugh, staring at his knees.

 

“Hey,” Billy said seriously. Goodnight looked up and met his partner’s eyes, gunmetal blue against knife-handle brown.

 

“Would I?” Billy asked again.

 

Goodnight let out a heavy breath and shook his head. Billy leaned forward and rested his forehead against Goodnight’s for a brief moment.

 

“You’re not pathetic,” he said.

 

Goodnight closed his eyes. “Thanks.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Billy drew back, standing up and smoothing out the creases in his clothes. “Come on,” he said, picking up his hat. “We have time to drink before dinner.”

 

Goodnight huffed out a laugh. “Now you’re talking some sense.”

 

“I always talk sense,” Billy said, picking up Goodnight’s hat and dropping it in the man’s lap. “You just talk all the time and hope some of it will be sense by chance. There’s a difference”

 

Goodnight fingered the brim of his hat, shrugging. He looked slyly up at Billy. “Well statistically it's bound to happen eventually.”

 

Billy gave him a look that managed to be both withering and fond. “ _Gaja_. Let’s go.”

 

***

 

 

Dinner was a predictably loud affair. Billy’s idea in drinking beforehand had been a good one. Both Goodnight’s nerves and tongue had loosened and he’d spent most of dinner engaged in friendly verbal sparring with their travel companions. It had taken a bit of an edge with Faraday at first, but several helpings of cornbread, mashed potatoes and gravy, and fried chicken had left everyone feeling content, the kinks from the road having been mostly smoothed out. The jaunty tunes from the battered piano in the corner also added a sense of levity. The success of their earlier gunfight had injected the pulse of adventure into almost everyone’s blood, and they now sat trying to outdo each other with tall tales, volume getting louder and louder until Faraday, Goodnight, Vasquez and Horne were good-naturedly shouting at each other, gesturing emphatically with their cutlery, while Billy and Chisolm occasionally exchanged an amused glance across the table.

 

At one point Billy had glanced over at the last one who had joined their party: Red Harvest. The man hadn’t said much to anyone besides Chisolm, and had mostly just sat there, fingers running idly up and down the impressive bow that leaned against his chair. Billy wondered how much he could understand of the English around him. Billy had been in America since he was ten, and English was no longer a mystery to him. But even now he might find himself in a saloon and feel lost with some of the stronger accents, the Midwestern drawl sometimes so different from the breezier twang of the Pacific Northwest that he’d grown up with.

 

And language aside, Red Harvest was the only one at the table who _looked_ more out of place than Billy. Billy knew how much that could rub sometimes, no matter how used to it you got, or how much you didn’t care what people thought. It got tiring being the fish out of water, and not for the first time he was glad he had Goody there to ease transitions, making a spot for Billy by his side.

 

Billy leaned across the table, dodging Vasquez’s elbows as he gestured mid-argument with Goody. He raised his voice so that Chisolm would be able to hear him.

 

“What’s the Comanche word for ‘teach’?” he asked the man who’d brought them all together.

 

Chisolm looked thoughtful, and Red Harvest’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed at Billy like he knew they were talking about him.

 

“Not sure. But it’s a Shoshoni dialect so probably _deninitasiu_?” Chisolm guessed.

 

Billy nodded his thanks and leaned back in his chair, looking at Red Harvest who still eyed him suspiciously. Billy jerked his head towards the man’s bow and arrows that he’d been admiring earlier.

 

“ _Deninitasiu_?” he tried, pointing at the bow and then at himself.

 

Red Harvest blinked in surprise, and then his face softened.

 

“If you show me a knife trick,” he replied in flawless English, actually smiling when Billy let out a bark of laughter.

 

“Deal,” he said, holding out his hand. Red Harvest shook it with a rough palm. Billy was about to ask him what kind of wood the bow was made of when he heard Goody say his name, and tuned back into the conversation around them.

 

“…and when Billy went up to that ingrate and said that to his _face_ , I was speechless for a good _hour_ ,” he hooted, jostling Billy’s shoulder.

 

“I know,” Billy said, knowing exactly what story Goody was telling now. He took a sip of beer and dryly added: “Best hour of my life.”

 

Everyone roared with laughter, Horne actually wiping away some tears. Billy found Goody’s knee under the table and squeezed it gently.

 

“Okay men, I think we oughta call it a night,” Chisolm said, getting to his feet. “Big day tomorrow.”

 

“Aw c’mon, ya rotten horse peddler!” Faraday said grinning up at him. “Night’s just getting started! We haven’t even gotten around to cards yet!” he said, pulling a deck out of his pocket and snapping it open like a fan, which he fluttered while looking hopefully up at Chisolm.

 

“No chance,” Chisolm said, smiling a bit. “Wake up’s at five. Get whatever sleep you need but don’t cry to me tomorrow if it hasn’t been enough.” He picked up his glass and drained the last dregs of ale before heading to the stairs at the back of the saloon.

 

“I’m gonna turn in too, fellas,” Goody said amidst protests from Vasquez and Horne. He pushed his chair back, and Billy mirrored him unconsciously, noting that Red Harvest had already slipped out.

 

“Long day of shooting?” Faraday asked a bit too sharply, cracking the cards into a shuffle. Billy gave him a look. Goody had been unwinding all night, he didn’t need to be tensed up again.

 

But it seemed like Goody had built back enough of the armor he wore like his tailored suits. “Yeah well what can I say? Your mother’s a pistol. Wore me clean out.”

 

The men cackled delightedly, and even Faraday cracked a smile. Goody waved carelessly at them and he and Billy headed upstairs, dodging townspeople who’d been slowly starting to lose their taut, careful posture around them.

 

They finally made it upstairs to their room and Goody patted down his pockets with a scowl.

 

“Aw shit I left the key downstairs.”

 

Billy wordlessly pulled it out of his own pocket. “When have you ever been in charge of the keys?”

 

“Good point,” said Goody, grinning at him. Billy just shook his head and unlatched the door, pushing Goody in before him into the dark room.

 

Billy went over to the dresser where an oil lamp was standing. He was about to fish in his pockets for a matchbook, when Goody’s voice stopped him:

 

“Leave it off,” he said quietly.

 

Billy looked over to where Goody was leaning against the wallpaper, its pattern obscured by the darkness. But Goody himself stood in the swath of moonlight that was coming through the room’s one window, his skin tinged almost blue.

 

Billy suddenly felt an ache in his chest. If you asked him why he had no moral qualms about possibly wiping out a hundred men to defend a town, it was because he knew he’d kill a thousand times that number for the one man who stood across from him now.

 

Wordlessly he walked back across the room, skin heating up from the way Goody’s eyes tracked his steps, as intensely as if he were lining him up down the barrel of his rifle. It sent a shiver through Billy and he stopped when he reached his partner, relieved when he saw no trace of anxiety or distance in his eyes anymore, the way they got when the man was hundreds of miles away, his mind on battles he’d had without Billy there to soften the blows.

 

But now there was no sign of restless paranoia to his eyes. Just a soft, familiar focus and a gentle glint. Not even the strain and stress of a world beyond his control could ever fully shake loose the spark that Goody seemed to have been born with. Billy placed a hand on the man’s jaw.

 

“Hey, Goody,” he said quietly.

 

“Hey, partner.” Goody smiled. And when he placed his calloused hand over Billy’s, Billy leaned in the hair’s-breadth to kiss him gently.

 

For several minutes they stood there, kissing unhurriedly, arms winding softly around each other, occasionally stealing glances of each other, smiling a little every time they caught one looking at the other’s face. Billy could still faintly hear the piano from downstairs as he slowly kissed Goody.

 

Being within only an inch of each other’s heights, it was easy for Goody to tilt his head to deepen the kiss, and he tightened his grip on Billy’s vest, pulling him in closer. Billy allowed it, feeling the same jolt he always did when their bodies lined up completely. But when Goody started to kiss him more desperately, fingers making frantic work of Billy’s clothes, Billy stayed his partner’s hands.

 

“What’s the hurry?”

 

“Thought we’d never get a minute alone,” Goody huffed out, reaching for Billy’s clothes again. But Billy just caught his hands, delivering a kiss to the knuckles, making Goody's eyes flutter shut.

 

“And I want more than a minute with you,” Billy said, easing Goody’s jacket off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Goody's collar was next, and once it was loosened, Billy leaned in, closing his eyes as he tasted the man’s neck.

 

“I want to take you until you forget about everything but me,” he murmured between kisses, working his way up Goody’s neck, pressing kisses against his jaw, stopping at his mouth, his lips ghosting over Goody’s. “Okay?”

 

Goody made a hissing sound and he leaned forward almost deliriously, brushing Billy’s lips with his own, reaching behind Billy’s head to pull out the hairpin he wore. Billy’s hair tumbled down framing his face, and Goody groaned as he buried his hand in it, gathering some into a fist as he surged forward to kiss Billy bruisingly hard, lips tingling at every pass.

 

Billy panted. He’d wanted to take this slow, but like so much of Goodnight, when it came to the man, Billy was weak to him in the most decisive possible way.

 

He pushed Goody back against the wall, lips working against his desperately, one hand going to Goody’s belt, the other cupping his jaw, fingers tightening so he could control the pace of the kiss a bit more.

 

“Yeah that’s it,” Goodnight breathed, and Billy practically groaned. He had enough presence of mind to _not_ rip the brightly polished buttons off of Goody's clothes, but once he pushed the man’s shirt off, it was all he could do to not continue all the way into the man’s chest like he was trying to crawl inside his heart and throw away the key.

 

Goody made quick work of Billy’s own shirt, and once it was off he immediately wrapped his arms around Billy, pulling him closer so that their chests were touching.

 

“How’re you always so warm?” he gasped.

 

“How do we still have clothes on,” growled Billy, and he stepped back, ignoring his partner’s sound of complaint, until Goody realized the Billy was pushing their flimsy iron bed frames together.

 

They looked at each other, exchanged identical grins, and were then back at each other, grappling at each other’s trousers until their pants were lying in a heap on the floor, and Billy and Goody were lying on the makeshift double bed, chests pressed together tightly, arms winding around each other, breath coming quickly, hands running over every inch of each other’s bodies, feet rubbing together, hips straining tighter, and all the while kissing like they’d just invented it.

 

“You got the slick?” Goody managed to gasp out between kisses.

 

Billy nodded in a daze, reaching down blindly to fumble in one of his bags for the small canister of cream they had, pulling it out.

 

“Put it on,” Goody breathed.

 

“Didn’t you want to…I mean –“ Billy asked, suddenly unsure as to what Goody needed. Normally after an episode Goody liked to take the more dominant role as a way to banish a sense of helplessness. 

 

But Goody’s lips twitched beneath his salt and pepper beard. “Would I love to fuck you into this mattress right now? Yes. But I’m teaching target practice tomorrow, and you’re teaching knife throwing. All I’ve gotta do is stand there, but you’re gonna be showing off that tumbling routine that you pretend is knife-fighting. Wouldn’t want you to pull something…well…I mean apart from the obvious,” he quipped, waggling his eyebrows at Billy suggestively.

 

Billy couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled out of him, freely and unselfconsciously, the way it only ever did when he was in Goody’s company. “That is gross and thoughtful.”

 

Goody snorted but he rolled his hips up insistently towards Billy. “C’mon, fuck me already.”

 

“Well if you say so,” he said, dipping his fingers into the container of slick cream, and beginning to work the oil into his partner’s body.

 

“And besides,” panted Goody, adjusting his hips. “It’s not as though I actually consider this a hardship,” he said, arching his back and gasping as Billy hit that spot inside of him.

 

Once Billy felt like Goody had been prepared enough, he withdrew his fingers, slicking himself up, biting back a moan at the pressure of his hand. He let go of himself to gather up his partner, gently winding Goody’s legs around his hips where they rested heavily, Goody's leg hair tickling the small of his sweat-soaked back. And lining himself up, he slowly sunk into Goody’s body where he was immediately surrounded by a scorching heat.

 

“God,” he said a bit shakily, eyes closing, as overwhelmed by the sensation as he’d been the first time they’d ever done this. Goody raised his hips to meet him, and he somehow sunk even deeper. He pulled out and snapped back in, limbs going weak at the tight, slippery heat. He slowly lowered his head to the crook of Goody’s neck, breathing the man in, hips beginning to thrust in a steady rhythm. “ _Saranghae_ , Goody” he said managed to say dazedly through the haze of pleasure clouding his brain.

 

“I love you too,” Goody said breathlessly, hands winding into Billy’s damp hair. He lifted Billy’s head where it was still buried between his neck and shoulder so that he could kiss any part of it he could reach. “So much.”

 

They met each other’s eyes, the only bright spots in the whole of the shadowy room, noses brushing as they stared at each other while sharing the same breath. They almost never traded endearments. Both were men of action, preferring to show their devotion through wordless gestures and by simply being present. But now Billy felt like he had a better idea of just how spooked his partner had been earlier if he was so freely offering up these declarations now. He swallowed around the lump of tenderness that had appeared in his throat and dipped his head to kiss Goody softly. However urgently he thrust into his partner, and however desperately Goody's fingers dug into his back, Billy continued to work Goody's mouth open with a slow yearning he felt like he’d never be able to satisfy for as long as he lived.

 

“Billy I’m – I’m close,” Goody managed to get out eventually. Billy kissed his cheek and snaked a hand down in between them, adjusting his weight before taking his partner in hand and stroking him root to tip, still sliding heavily into him, mind spinning with every lush stroke.

 

“Oh yeah that’s it,” Goody said throwing his head back, fingers tightening in the rippling muscles of Billy’s back.

 

Billy felt a new surge of urgency take over him and he sped up his own thrusts, timing them with the jerks of his hand on Goody.

 

“Oh…oh god yeah… _Billy_ ,” cried out Goody suddenly. And the burst of wetness that suddenly bloomed into Billy’s hand was enough to send Billy’s hips pistoning deeper into Goody as he gritted his teeth, his hips stuttered, once, twice, and he was spilling into his partner over and over.

 

They clung together damply, trading spare, dazed kisses, hands skating lightly over each other's skin. It had always been good between them. Even that first time so long ago when they’d been drunk enough to try it, but not so drunk that they could pretend it hadn't happened. So they didn't.

 

Billy eased himself out slowly, reaching for a hand towel which he used to lazily clean up. He settled back down by Goody's side, drawing him in closer.

 

“I’m right here,” he said tiredly, the fatigue of the day finally catching up to him. He could still vaguely hear the piano from downstairs, cascading faintly through the thin walls of the saloon. “Not going anywhere.”

 

Goody was silent for so long Billy thought he’d fallen asleep until he heard: “Not even now?”

 

Billy ran a hand over Goody's shoulder, fingers tracing the familiar scars of shrapnel that hadn’t even managed to affect Goody's perfect rifle shots. Just his ability to take them.

 

“Nah. I’m seeing this one out,” he said. “You?”

 

Goody paused too long. “Me too.”

 

They didn’t say anything else, just turned to each other and settled more comfortably into a loose embrace. Billy pressed a kiss into the side of Goody's head, his chest tightening when Goody moved in closer.

 

 _I need you just as much as you need me_ , _you know_ , Billy had been about to say. But he heard Goody's breathing slow out and he knew the man was already asleep.

 

Billy should have felt relaxed listening to his partner’s steady breaths, feeling the familiar way Goody's fingers twitched in his sleep. He knew what was coming next: a quick succession of whines, so quiet he tended to miss them whenever he fell asleep before Goody, which was why he tried not to.

 

“Shhh,” Billy said soothingly, running a hand up and down Goody's spine until the man finally relaxed, muscles easing as he slipped into a deeper sleep.

 

He’s gonna run, Billy thought, the idea whisking over him like a sudden breeze. Maybe not this job, maybe not the next, but one day this man is going to run.

 

He knew Goodnight didn’t see the same man Billy did. Whenever Goody stared in a mirror, his eyes bored a hole into his reflection like twin embers of coal, scared that if he didn’t he was going to up and wisp away like campfire smoke.

 

“Just make sure you come back,” he murmured into Goodnight’s hair.

 

Billy knew there was a still spark inside of Goody. He knew it’d never go out completely. He could just hope that whenever Goody took it into his head to leave him, he’d be able to light it back up himself without Billy there.

 

And shifting on their thin bed, Billy finally closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms tighter around Goodnight, anchoring him there for one more night.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
